Luke was willing, and getting out his banjo, tuned up, and soon
started a ditty about "A Coon Who Lived in the Moon," or something of
that sort. Then he began a breakdown, and, unable to resist, Sam Day got
up and began to dance a step he had learned from his father's coachman
at home.

"Good for you, Sam!" cried Dave. "That's fine!"

"Sam, you ought to join the minstrels," added Roger, and began to keep
time with his hands, "patting juba" as it is termed down South.

Not to be outdone by Sam, Ben joined in the dance, and several lads
began to "pat juba" as loudly as possible. Growing very enthusiastic,
Ben leaped over a bed and back. Then Shadow Hamilton caught up a chair
and began to gallop around, horseback fashion. The chair caught in a
stand, and over it went, carrying a lot of books and poor Polly Vane
with it.

"Gracious, this won't do," murmured Dave, as he set to work to pick up
the books. "Hi, stop that racket, Shadow!" he called out. "Do you want
to get us all into trouble?"

"Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled Shadow. "This is the last
quarter. Bet I win!" and around the dormitory he spun again. This time
he knocked over little Chip Macklin, sending him sprawling.

"Say, let up!" called out Roger, and catching up one of the books he
took aim at Shadow. "If you don't stop I'll throw this at your head."

"Can't stop--let her go--if you dare!" called back Shadow.

Hardly had he spoken when the senator's son let the volume drive. As he
did so the dormitory door opened and Job Haskers appeared. The book
missed Shadow, who dodged, and struck the door, sending that barrier up
against the teacher's nose so sharply that Job Haskers uttered a shrill
cry of mingled pain and alarm.

[Illustration: "Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled Shadow. _Page
58._]

CHAPTER VII

HOW JOB HASKERS WENT SLEIGH-RIDING

On the instant the noise in Dormitory No. 12 came to an end. Shadow
Hamilton dropped the chair and sat upon it and Luke Watson swung his
banjo out of sight under a bedspread. Dave remained on one knee, picking
up the books that had been scattered.

"You--you young rascals!" spluttered Job Haskers, when he could speak.
"How dare you throw books at me?"

He glared around at the students, then strode into the dormitory and
caught Dave by the shoulder.

"I say how dare you throw books at me?" he went on.

"I haven't thrown any books, Mr. Haskers," answered Dave, calmly.

"What!"